Baking · Breakfast · Dairy Free · Grain Free

A Quiet Morning, and Grain Free Pumpkin Muffins

Dear Joey,

You were on call this morning, so you were at the hospital before the sun woke up. And I’m so sorry you missed it: a miraculous combination of cooperation and quiet that yielded me a chance to try out a new recipe. After stumbling downstairs with three hungry Goobies in tow; after digging through the freezer to find something other than cereal and bananas to feed their empty bellies; after settling on a combination of sliced strawberries, frozen waffles and hash browns (and letting them each choose whatever they wanted), they were full and happy and ventured off on their own to unleash their creativity before the sun was all the way up. There wasn’t any squabbling or pestering, either–just the happy sounds of happy kids. In the quiet, I was faced with a dilemma: sit and drink my coffee in peace, or take the opportunity to make a batch of muffins?

I chose muffins, of course.

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While I was stuck on the couch nursing a silly shoulder problem the past few days, I saw an intriguing idea for making pumpkin muffins without flour, using almond butter and eggs. Admittedly, it didn’t immediately sound amazing because pumpkin and almond don’t always go hand in hand, in my mind. But finding excuses to test recipes for grain free food is a top priority these days, as (again) being just gluten free isn’t cutting it for me. Finding ways to be more grain free is challenging, and often I find myself eating cold leftovers for breakfast, straight out of the fridge, because oatmeal and gluten free banana muffins the Goobies and I usually reach for just don’t agree with me anymore. This is why choosing to use my time to make a batch of muffins was wise. It was either that, or eat cold hamburger soup for breakfast.

About two weeks ago I used my experience and good sense and decided to transform my go-to gluten free banana muffins into grain free version using almond flour, tapioca flour and coconut flour. The result was so delicious, we even think they’re better than the original. Armed with the confidence that comes from delicious successes such as that, I tried that magical combination of alternative flours in these pumpkin muffins too, and wouldn’t you know? It worked again. With their fluffy, crispy outside and tender crumb inside, you wouldn’t know there’s no grain in them. I’m not even kidding. They are not gummy or overly dry either. Perfectly moist and full of flavor.

So no, I didn’t drink my coffee in peace today. By the time I got around to pouring my cup of it, the Goobies were rushing in and out of the back yard, needing jackets and tissues and cups of water and snuggles from taking a tumble. I’m pretty sure half my cup is still sitting in the kitchen somewhere, cold and untouched. I think I’ll go find it. Maybe I’ll snag another muffin as I go, but I’ll make sure to leave plenty for you, too.

Love,

Scratch

Grain Free Pumpkin Muffins

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Again, I took the lead from Laura over at Heavenly Homemakers, whose original recipe called for mainly eggs, almond butter and pumpkin (along with some brown sugar and pumpkin spice), but I cut the amount of almond butter in half and added in my magical combination of alternative flours, along with a few other ingredients to make sure the muffins rose properly, and voila–our own new go-to grain free (and dairy free, too!) pumpkin muffin recipe. Thanks for your inspiration, Laura!

Ingredients:
  • 1-15 oz. can pure pumpkin puree
  • 1 cup creamy almond butter
  • 3 large eggs
  • 1/2 cup brown sugar
  • 1/2 cup blanched almond flour
  • 1/4 cup + 2 Tablespoons tapioca flour
  • 2 Tablespoons coconut flour
  • 2 teaspoons pumpkin pie spice
  • 1 teaspoon baking soda
  • 1/2 teaspoon apple cider vinegar
  • 1/2 teaspoon sea salt
  • cinnamon sugar, for sprinkling
Method:

Preheat the oven to 400 degrees farenheit. Line a standard muffin tin with muffin cups, or grease very well.

Next, combine all the ingredients together in a stand up mixer; beat until smooth and creamy. Scoop about 1/4 cup of batter into each prepared muffin cup. Sprinkle the tops with cinnamon sugar, then pop the pan into the oven and bake for 18-20 minutes, or until golden brown.

Allergy Friendly · Back to School · Family Life · Salads

Just One More Day, and BLT Pasta Salad

4Lord, remind me how brief my time on earth will be.
    Remind me that my days are numbered—
    how fleeting my life is.
You have made my life no longer than the width of my hand.
    My entire lifetime is just a moment to you;
    at best, each of us is but a breath.”

-Psalm 39:4-5

Dear Joey,

Just one more day.

That is what I told myself this morning when I climbed out of bed, not really ready to get up to face one more day of summer togetherness. I trudged my way through the dark of the morning, Emery at my heels: hungry and impatient. The thought of getting through one more day of all the Goobies home all day threatened to steal away the last shred of my sanity.  In the harried moments of the morning, it seemed like school couldn’t start fast enough. Just one more day until I can catch my breath.

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My parents have been here for a week and it’s been fantastic. They brought my grandparents to see our new home and to explore the area a little before heading off to Iowa to take care of some family business. They leave again today. The Goobies don’t want them to go. Neither do I, really. The Goobies seemed more at ease this past week than they have perhaps all summer long. More themselves, as if they had been holding their breath for weeks, not really sure they would ever see these familiar faces again. But they exhaled this week, finally able to relax a little and weren’t so on edge with each other. But today they had to say goodbye again and their tender little hearts were brave, but broken.

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They loaded up the car a few hours ago now after squeezing us tight and calling “See you later!” as they waved goodbye with the sort of cheerful smile that convinced me it might actually be true. We watched them drive away and the Goobies asked me they could please stay for just one more day.

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And those words brought me back to reality: their visit and summer vacation both end today. For me, this means the fridge won’t get magically stocked with Earth Balance and pork chops while I’m not looking; the kitchen sink will stay piled high with dirty dishes unless you or I (or both of us) roll up our sleeves and actually scrub them; and the laundry won’t fold itself while I’m making dinner in the other room. (Bless all the Grandparents.) Suddenly it is a school night and gracious me I have to think about packing lunches again. But for them, for the Goobies, this means there is just one more day until school starts and the elusive change we have been talking about for weeks is finally, unavoidably, here.

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My breath is catching in my throat as I think about the weight of those words: Just one more day is both a promise and a warning. Hang on, there’s only one more day to endure the aggravation of too much togetherness. And also, Make the most of this moment, because there’s just one more day until it all changes again. Just one more day until the rigors of school supersede laid back summer days, as cooped up and crazy as they became. Just one more day until packing lunches and completing homework and enforcing bedtime make the evenings fly by. Just one more day until fighting over outfits and untangling unkempt hair and forcing breakfast into a tummy that doesn’t want to eat, followed by the frenzied dash toward the door and a too-quick kiss goodbye as they topple out of the car. Just one more day to be slow, to lay low, to just be.  When tomorrow comes, I will breathe deeply and exhale slowly, thankful that we made it to the finish line. When today is gone, my heart will hurt and tears will fall, I will face the first day of school wishing for just one more day. I wonder how the Goobies will feel?

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I carried Mia up the stairs this afternoon; it was quiet reading time and she seemed a little off. She wrapped her arms around my neck and I memorized the way it felt to hold her like that.

“I’m going to miss you tomorrow,” I said.

“I’m going to miss you too.”

 

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Isn’t that always the way? We have complained our way through the summer, frustrated with all the togetherness that has made us so sick of each other, but suddenly I want to beg plead and bargain for just one more day with them all here at home with me. I want to finally slow down enough to plop on the floor with Addie and build Legos all afternoon. I want to sit in the shade of the garage and watch them ride bikes until they are red in the face. I want to listen to them squeal with shocked delight as they run through the sprinklers in the heat of the day, and let them lick Popsicles at lunchtime because it’s just too hot to eat. I want to snuggle up with Mia while Emery sleeps in the haze of a lazy afternoon and listen to her read Matilda to me as I fight to stay awake. I want to go swimming at twilight and and pile scoop upon scoop of homemade ice cream high up on a sugar cone, lapping up the frozen treat in the thick evening air right along with them.

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Why is it so hard for me to say yes? Why do I say no, or not right now, or maybe later when experience teaches me that later is the place where regret resides? Today is a good day to look back on all the times I said yes, the times I jumped into the water and played in the pool along with them, the afternoons we pulled out the Whirley Pop and made kettle corn and piled onto the couch and snuggled as we watched The Sword in the Stone or Robin Hood; the mornings when I put on my prom dress and played Royal Family with them, pretending to be a queen dripping in gaudy jewelry, only to have them wrap a cape around my neck and declare me a royal superhero. But instead of seeing all the times I said yes, all I seem to see are the times I said no, not now, and maybe later. Later is here now, and time ran out, and I wish I could go back and do it better.

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Rain is falling now. Gray clouds stretch farther than my eyes can see, a soft blanket nestling us in the house together for one last afternoon before we throw off the covers and crawl out of bed to face a new school year and all the hassle and joy and change it brings. Tears sting my eyes, and I can’t help it. I can’t go back, I can’t do it all over again, but I can re-frame my thinking. I can remember how painful it is to regret saying no, not now, or maybe later. I can choose to be motivated by the promise and warning of what it feels like to have just one more day, every day.

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Addie and Mia have miraculously built Lego’s together all afternoon without snarling at each other over petty little problems. I hardly hear them; but what I hear, I cherish. Their sweet voices cooperative and kind, the soundtrack to my afternoon that romanticizes the idea of having them here with me forever. Tomorrow, the house will be quiet at nap time, and tears fall as I think about it. I will miss them, but I am excited for them too: out there making friends and taking chances and learning, again, what it means to be brave. And while they are there, I will be here, waiting to hear their stories when they pile into the car when the day is done, refreshed and ready to really listen because there are only so many more days left like that out there in the hazy future, and I don’t want to miss even one of them.

Love,

Scratch

BLT Pasta Salad

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This salad screams summer to me: a refreshing salad that requires minimal effort. It was born out of the need to ditch my plans for Friday night pizza and throw something together with minimal effort (because spending a summer morning at the farm in the middle of a Midwestern August day does not make me want to come home and work in a hot kitchen). Not too proud to admit to poor planning, I switched gears and declared we would grill Bratwurst and throw together a few cold salads instead and toast to an easy summer dinner. I didn’t come up with the idea for BLT Pasta Salad, but I followed my own intuition when making it for my food allergy family.  The beauty of it is it is flexible (like so many of my recipes!), and can easily be adapted to suit your family’s needs. My family liked it so much they urged me to post it here on Love, Scratch, so that other families could enjoy it too. Cheers to laid back summer dinners!

Ingredients:
  • 1-12 oz box Gluten Free Bow Tie Pasta (such as Jovial brand)
  • 1 heart of romaine lettuce, washed and chopped
  • 1 pint grape tomatoes, cut in half
  • real bacon bits* (such as Epic brand, which is dairy free. Watch out for lactic acid starter culture in bacon!)
  • 3/4 cup homemade dairy free ranch dressing (or store bought)
  • 1/4 cup + 2 Tablespoons barbecue sauce (homemade or storebought, more or less to your liking)

* You’ll notice I do not give an exact quantity for bacon bits. This is because you know how much your family likes bacon, and you probably have a grasp on how much they would prefer. I used a 3 oz. package of Epic brand bacon bits for this particular batch, but the salad would have benefited from more. Admittedly, I would have preferred to use a freshly cooked batch of thick cut bacon, crumbled into bits, but I took the easy way out and saved myself the trouble of dealing with hot bacon grease. I humbly suggest you do the same if you make this on a hot summer afternoon.

Method:

First, cook the noodles according to package instructions. Drain and rinse the noodles with cold water. (I know most cooks frown upon rinsing pasta, but I rinse mine when I make pasta salad. I like the way it helps the noodles cool down and keeps them from sticking together.) Dump the noodles into a large mixing bowl and let them cool to room temperature, about 10 minutes or so.

While the noodles are cooking, get the bacon ready. If you are cooking a fresh batch of bacon, go ahead and do it now. Then wash and chop the lettuce and tomatoes, and set them aside. If you are . Mix together the ranch and barbecue sauce and set that aside too.

When the noodles have cooled off, toss in the tomatoes and bacon bits, and drizzle about half of the dressing on top. Toss it together, making sure the noodles are completely coated with the sauce. Refrigerate until ready to serve, so that the noodles soak up all the flavor of the sauces. When it’s just about time to serve, toss in the lettuce and pour the remaining sauce on top and toss to coat again.

Spoon the filling into the taco shells–about 1/3 cup each, then top with the cheese. Pop the pan into the oven and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the shells are golden and the cheese is melted and golden. (Yes! Even vegan cheese melts and turns golden!)

Serve immediately–or as soon as you can. The filling will be hot, but the shells have a tendency to turn soggy if they sit too long. This never stops any of us from polishing off a taco or two (or five, if we’re talking about Joey).

 

 

Allergy Friendly · Family Life · What's for Dinner?

Better, Not Easier, and Crispy Baked Tacos

“Dear children, let’s not merely say that we love each other;

let us show the truth by our actions.”

-1 John 3:18

Dear Joey,

The Goobies have been bugging me.

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I know why: the four of us have been together constantly from the moment we left California–that’s a month and a half without much of a break. Moving to a new state compounded the normal stresses of summer, and here we are two weeks away from school starting and the day can’t get here fast enough because (confession): I’m a wreck.

So much togetherness became too much togetherness for my introverted self. Most days I want to hide away in the deepest corner of our closet, lock the door and never come out again, but dang it, I love those kids, so I greet each morning with a half-hearted smile, willing myself to give choosing what is better over what is easy my very best shot.

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Last summer the days crept by, but this summer flew. It’s not exactly a good thing either, because even though I can’t wait for school to start, I am also dreading the fast and frenzied mornings that will quickly turn into late nights spent toting kids to and from soccer practice and helping them get their homework done, all while squeezing in dinner and keeping Emery busy and stimulated, and us connected to each other.

“It gets late quicker in Kansas, doesn’t it?” you asked me last week, when it was suddenly 9:30 pm and I was still folding laundry.  I think we said said hello to each other when you got home from work that day, but that quick exchange of words and kisses may have been the only moment completely ours. Most conversations get hijacked by one Goobie or another, because they are just as cooped up as I am and they miss you all day too.

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Two nights ago we tried really hard to slow down and recharge, so we tucked the Goobies into bed by 8:30, making sure the girls had books to read and water to sip, then tip toed out to the patio to sit side by side and actually talk to each other. It didn’t last long.

They came out to join us one by one: first Addie, having finished The Princess in Black quicker than we thought she would and not quite ready to succumb to sleep yet. We smiled politely and listened, and when we realized she just wanted to start the next book in the series before turning out her light, I took  her by the hand and went upstairs with her, handed her the book, and whispered another goodnight before closing the door again.

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Not long after that, out came Mia, who flashed us the smile that sets souls on fire and curled up in the rocking chair across from you, poised and ready to participate in grown up conversation. We indulged her for a few minutes (recognizing we don’t often get one-on-one time with her either) before giving her another round of hugs and kisses and walking her back to bed.

The quiet of the night returned, fireflies and lightning flashing bright in the star-studded sky. We talked about blue Wisteria trees and the allegorical quality of Frodo Baggins; the powerful testimony of the apostle Paul and the beauty and gravity of being made human, marveling at the idea that God sees something good in any of us. And then Addie opened the patio door a second time, eyes weary of reading but not heavy enough to close.

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We feigned happy faces, frustrated as we were to be interrupted again. And yet, I opened my arms wide and she came running to me, latched onto me and held tight while you ducked into the kitchen for that box of Pfeffernusse cookies hiding at the top of the pantry. You broke open the box and silently handed one to Addie, who took the cookie with wide eyed wonder, thinking it must be too good to be true. She hesitated to taste it for only a moment until she saw the look on your face, the look that told her it was hers to enjoy. She eased her grip on me and snuggled close to you, listening to you talk about your grandma Adeline–our Addie’s namesake– and the way those spicy German cookies connect you to her memory. I think you hoped they would connect Addie to her memory, too.

We sat like that for a half an hour at least–or maybe more–who knows. Time slowed and we didn’t care what time it was. It was sort of a miracle. Addie’s head rested on your chest as she laid there watching the stars, needing nothing else in the world but you.

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Sometimes we get focused on what we need and end up unwittingly dismissing the cues our kids send us about what they need. It’s not on purpose, and usually the things we need to keep us connected aren’t bad things on their own. We hadn’t sat down to speak to each other without one of the Goobies hanging around, interjecting their childish opinions and derailing our conversations, for weeks. And yet–clearly we haven’t made time to give the girls what they need either. How often do any of them get us, together, alone?

We don’t always choose what is better instead of what is easier–in this case, setting aside our own agenda for the sake of showing love to the kids–but that night, we did. Yes, we still need to make the time to talk to each other beyond a quick hello, but our small sacrifice of focusing on what Addie needed right then, in that moment, felt right. She didn’t need lectures about obedience or staying in bed or how our bodies will eventually fall asleep even though it’s hard–she needed us to let her hang out with us. For as much as we tell her we love her, she needed us to show her our love by not saying anything at all.  Spreading our arms wide and pulling her close; sharing cookies and watching a storm roll in; walking her back up to bed as the rain started to fall and singing one last lullaby before saying goodnight–the girl woke up happier than she has in weeks.

I woke up in better spirits too, I think. The Goobies didn’t seem so annoying yesterday, and somehow we managed to squeeze more good out of a single day than we had in quite some time, as if that small act of kindness empowered me to keep on giving them the love and attention they need.

Love,

Scratch

Crispy Baked Tacos

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A couple of weeks ago, after a particularly difficult day of wrangling kids (who were just as sick of each other as they were of me), Joey swooped in and rescued my sanity by taking the Goobies to the pool for an hour before dinner. This was a win-win because not only did I get a little bit of much-needed time by myself, but the kids came home to a real dinner (and not just ham & cracker sandwiches, which would have been the dinnertime solution had Joey not come home right when he did.) After an hour’s worth of playing hard in the pool, Addie walked into the kitchen and smiled wide, sighing as the aroma of her beloved Crispy Baked Tacos greeted her. (It’s one of her absolute favorites.) Sticking with the ham & crackers and putting my feet up while they were gone would have been easier, but this dinner was definitely better in so many ways. A simple green salad and sliced cantaloupe makes the meal complete.

Ingredients:
  • 1-15 pack Stand ‘N Stuff taco shells (or regular ones, but the stand & stuff are more cooperative)
  • 1 pound ground beef or turkey (I use 85/15, but you can use a leaner version if you prefer)
  • 1-16 ounce can refried beans
  • 14.5 ounce can diced tomatoes
  • 4 Tablespoons / 1 ounce homemade taco seasoning (or 1 packet store bought)
  • 2 teaspoons red wine vinegar
  • salt, to taste (it won’t need munch–just a pinch or two)
  • 1/2 cup Follow Your Heart brand Vegan Cheddar Style Shreds*
  • 1/2 cup Follow Your Heart brand Vegan Parmesan Style shreds*

*Or use the equivalent of at least 1 cup of your family’s favorite vegan or dairy cheese (but in our opinion, Follow Your Heart brand wins). And I won’t hold it against you if you use more than a cup of cheese–before we were dairy free, we piled lots of cheddar on top, but now we use the vegan varieties more sparingly.

Method:

First, preheat the oven to 400 degrees.

Next, spray a 13 x 9 glass baking dish with cooking spray and line up the taco shells all in a row. You will probably need an extra 8 x 8 glass pan too, so go ahead and get that one ready as well.

Move on to the filling: brown the meat over medium high heat. Once browned, but not crispy, sprinkle the taco seasoning on top and toss to coat. Then add the vinegar and a couple pinches of salt and stir well to combine (these two together will wake up the flavors, so don’t skip it!). Next, add the tomatoes and beans, stir to combine well, and cook for 2-3 minutes, then remove from heat. Let the filling sit for about 5 minutes to firm up just a bit (if you try to fill the tacos too soon, the filling will still be runny).

Spoon the filling into the taco shells–about 1/3 cup each, then top with the cheese. Pop the pan into the oven and bake for 20-25 minutes, or until the shells are golden and the cheese is melted and golden. (Yes! Even vegan cheese melts and turns golden!)

Serve immediately–or as soon as you can. The filling will be hot, but the shells have a tendency to turn soggy if they sit too long. This never stops any of us from polishing off a taco or two (or five, if we’re talking about Joey).

 

Dairy Free · Gluten Free · Pizza · What's for Dinner?

The Return of Pizza, and Easy Olive Oil Biscuit Crust

If I eat what is served to me, grateful to God for what is on the table, how can I worry about what someone will say? I thanked God for it and he blessed it!

1 Corinthians 10:30 (MSG)

Dear Joey,

Ah, pizza.

When Emery was first diagnosed with his dairy allergy, we let the girls eat the cheese-laden stuff around him all the time. He was an infant, after all, small and snuggly and on a liquid diet. But once the kid showed interest in what we were eating–and then when he started walking and reaching and climbing, we panicked. (The sippy cup incident taught us our lesson). Clearly, we ditched the dairy.

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But, pizza.

We missed the weekly appearance of those slices dripping with cheesy goodness. The Friday night staple sent a signal, telling us something fun was about to happen, and helped us switch gears from get it done to let it rest. Missing the stuff so terribly, we switched to frozen pizzas–the Daiya brand, specifically (because it’s gluten free, too), because it seemed to be the variety most dairy free folks like best. Emery cheered when we set a slice in front of him, so happy was he to be eating the same food as his sisters, but Mia scoffed, saying it smelled funny. Addie wasn’t so hard to please–she liked it ok-ish, she said, but admitted it didn’t taste like our homemade variety to which she was accustomed. She understood why we made the switch, she said, but Mia seemed nonplussed by it all. Somehow we managed to get her to try a tiny bite, after which she insisted, “I don’t like it. It’s TERRIBLE!” and proceeded to cry.

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Since this could not be pizza.

So the vegan pies disappeared from our table for awhile (even though, admittedly, we still indulged in a slice of gluten free pizza once in awhile after the Goobies were tucked snug in their beds.) We figured keeping real pizza away from the dinner table might retrain the girls’ taste buds, and met their requests for slices of it with, “not for awhile, kiddos.” Serving slices of regular cheesy pizza to the girls alongside Emery’s vegan variety seemed like an unfairness we couldn’t get on board with. It didn’t go over well with Mia, so we appealed to her deep-set sense of justice and asked her how it would feel if we all ate peanut butter sandwiches for lunch while she sat next to us eating a ham sandwich instead. “Not good,” she grumbled.

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So, no pizza.

Time went by and little by little the girls’ taste buds adjusted (or just simply forgot how glorious the real stuff tastes) and eventually we played around with other vegan cheeses that ended up producing food that duped even our toughest critic. So, when things turned chaotic again just a few months ago and I found myself wandering the aisles at Sprouts trying to find frozen convenience foods that were 1) foods safe for everyone in our family to eat and 2) foods that everyone in our family would willingly eat,  I wondered: might it be time to give Daiya frozen pizzas another shot? I grabbed a couple of boxes and tossed them into my cart, asking God to grant favor over this small little thing that really doesn’t matter much in the scheme of things, but would be a huge help to my stressed out self. “Please God, help them eat it without grumbling about it?”

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Because, pizza.

Friday night rolled around and I popped those things in the oven and didn’t give anyone a chance to protest. Out they came, and I sliced them up and stacked them on plates and handed the Goobies their dinner with a feigned look of confidence. After prayers, they ate, and I heard nothing but the warbled sound of voices filling each other in on the day’s events in between mouthfuls of pizza. I silently cheered as I went about my business, only to be shaken out of my silent celebration by Mia’s persnickity voice saying, “Ahem–uh, Mom–is this Daiya?”  I was caught.

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Daiya? Pizza?

Clearly, I couldn’t pass the stuff off as anything but what it actually was, so I claimed defeat and simply said, “Yep.”

“I like it.”

Silence, as all three Goobies continued to scarf the stuff down as if they hadn’t had pizza in months. (Which, of course, they hadn’t.) My simple prayer at that point? “Thank you thank you thank you thank you.”

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Finally, pizza.

And so, since that day I made it a habit to toss a pizza or two into my shopping cart so our freezer is always stocked with them. In theory, this is a great plan: frozen pizza laying in wait is a convenience almost as good as the freedom to call out for delivery. But goodness those pizzas aren’t friendly to my wallet. So once the debris of moving began to clear around here, I got back into the habit of making fresh dough, slathering on some sauce and sprinkling on some Daiya at home, trusting that the Goobies would be excited about them as they were about the frozen variety that Mia now claims she loves. (Praise God.) There may not be any in the freezer at the moment, but don’t worry not: I’ll keep the simple staples stocked so we can have pizza on a whim just about anytime–even at the last minute. Feel free to ask for it as often as you wish. I expect the Goobies will too.

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After all, pizza.

Love,

Scratch

Olive Oil Biscuit Crust Pizza

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My mom mentioned biscuit crust pizzas to me this past year when a yeast dough pizza crust mishap foiled our Friday night dinner plans. It was during the time when I was trying to pass off pizzas made with Daiya to Mia with no success. I spent hours trying on making these pizzas and they wound up in a miserable heap that Mia refused to eat. Biscuit crusts were my mom’s secret weapon during my growing up years–a quick, fuss-free way to make inexpensive pizzas us kids loved. Sheet pans layered with dough and cheese and hamburger happened all the time in our house, and while I hadn’t remembered the biscuit crust specifically until she mentioned them, I do remember those big ol’ pans of cheesy goodness with the sort of clarity only a chubby kid can claim. My mom used Bisquick as a short cut to quickly produce pizza at the last minute: stir together a few ingredients, press the dough onto a pan, pile it high with toppings and pop it into the oven. What follows is my rendition of her biscuit crust, modified to be gluten and dairy free, and as written is free of the top 8 allergens. The combination of vegan cheeses listed below are what we prefer and produce a pizza that really does taste like the frozen ones that inspired it, but if you like the Daiya cheddar shreds, us that instead of the Follow Your Heart brand. As always, if your family doesn’t have food allergies, swap out conventional ingredients for the modified ones below (all purpose flour for gluten free flour; milk for flax milk; mozzarella and cheddar for vegan substitutes). Add other toppings as you like, of course. 

Ingredients:

For the crust–

  • 3 cups all purpose gluten free flour blend
  • 1 1/2 cups plain unsweetened flax milk
  • 9 Tablespoons olive oil
  • 1 Tablespoon baking powder
  • 3/4 teaspoon sea salt
  • 3/4 teaspoon sugar

For the pizza sauce–

  • 1-15 oz can tomato sauce
  • 2 Tablespoons Italian seasoning
  • 1 Tablespoon granulated garlic

For the toppings–

Method:

First, preheat the oven to 450 degrees fahrenheit. Next, grease a jelly roll pan (use coconut oil cooking spray because it’s easy). Then, in a small bowl, mix together the ingredients for the sauce and set it aside, keeping it close because you’ll need it soon. Toss together the two vegan cheeses in another small bowl and keep that one close by too.

Move on to the dough: whisk together the dry ingredients, then add the oil and mix well until the flour and oil have combined completely and looks a little bit like really wet sand. Pour in the flaxmilk and stir until a soft dough forms, and let it sit to absorb the liquid for about a minute. Next, dump the dough onto the greased jelly roll pan and press it out evenly until it covers the pan completely and goes about 1/2 inch up the side of the pan, like you would with a pie crust. Slip the crust into the oven and par-bake it for about 5-7 minutes.

After that, take it out and spread the sauce evenly across the top of the crust, as thick or thin as you prefer. Sprinkle the vegan cheese blend all over, and add any other toppings you want to add as well. Slip the pizza back into the oven for 15-18 more minutes, or until the vegan cheese shreds have melted and started to turn golden.

Slice. Serve. Smile.

Comfort Food · Family Life · Salads · Side Dishes

Homesick, and My Mom’s Potato Salad

Dear Joey,

When I was a kid I suffered from severe homesickness: the kind that rendered me very poor company indeed. Tears and sleepless nights were my companions at sleepovers, and I vividly recall instance upon instance of begging my parents to let me go to a sleepover, only to call them in tears near midnight, begging to go home. More often than not, my dad lumbered his way to the car and drove to pick me up and waving his thanks to my hosts for their hospitality as he ducked back into the car to go home.

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Neither of my parents seemed to mind; if they were angry or inconvenienced, neither of them showed it. Big smiles and bigger hugs welcomed me home no matter how long the drive to pick me up (and sometimes, the drive was long.) In retrospect, they must have been peeved that their little girl couldn’t buck up and be brave and just go to sleep already. I know, because I feel this way about Addie sometimes when she tells me she doesn’t want to go to school for this one reason alone: she’s going to miss me.

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It happens like this: I hug her goodbye when I drop her off at school, but she runs back to give me a second, third, fourth hug before finally letting go of my hand to walk to the playground. I squeeze her hard and shoo her off to class, wondering why she doesn’t skip toward school like her sister who often runs to join friends without so much as a wave goodbye. I’m tempted to just walk away and let the kid deal with it already, but then I chide myself and give her grace every time because Addie is just like me. So I stand and watch her as she makes the long walk to line up, and I wave the whole time, watching as she flashes her sweet a smile and waves our sign for “I love you,” until finally we are out of each other’s sight.

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Fast forward thirty years later and I moved halfway across the country and find myself sleeping in a different time zone than my own parents, a feat neither they nor myself could imagine during those groggy midnight drives home. I probably cried the whole way, disappointed in myself for being different than the other kids, embarrassed that I cried about missing my mom and made a scene and forced my friends to wake up their sleeping parents so I could call my own.

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When my mom and dad flew me and the Goobies out to KC to meet you, I counted on the fact that I had long-since grown out of that homesick mess of a little girl I used to be. It didn’t occur to me that I might cry when I missed my mom in the middle of the night (I am a grown woman, after all), and thankfully being away from them isn’t as tough as it would have been years ago in my younger days. Still, saying goodbye was tough. I hugged my mom and dad casually, convincing myself it wouldn’t be long until they would be back to visit, but in all honesty if I had squeezed them tight I would have cried big, hot tears that would have made them want to whisk me home with them. Instead, I said, “See you later!” and smiled as they went, but as soon as the door closed, the tears started to fall. Sarah caught me up in a hug and soothed me with confessions that if were her saying goodbye to her mom, she would be crying too. (In fact, she did cry a little for me.)

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FaceTime and airplanes make the sting of separation more tolerable than my seven year old self would ever believe possible, but it’s still there, new and nagging like shoes that don’t feel like my own quite yet. This new life will break itself in soon, I know, and life –but for now, admittedly, I’m feeling a little homesick. Eating lots of my mom’s potato salad helps because it transports me to her kitchen, and I can almost feel her give me a squeeze hello when I walk inside.

Love,

Scratch

My Mom’s Potato Salad (for a Crowd)

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I know there are as many ways to make potato salad as their are mothers out there (read: zillions), but this is my favorite because it’s familiar (and both my Goobie girls enjoy it!). My mom has been making this for years and years–always by memory, and never from a written recipe. Somehow it always tastes the same, and when I attempted to make a batch last weekend to take to a family BBQ, I nailed it. One scoop and I wasn’t in Kansas anymore, but instead was in the backyard in the house on Los Arboles Place watching my mom flit around the kitchen in her pink apron with the white polka dots, smushing the potatoes with her expert hands, whisking together the dressing and hollering for my dad to come take a taste. I’m pretty sure my mom’s version is a little bit sweeter than mine, but marginally so. If you like your potato salad sweeter, then by all means: add more sugar. (Also, you’ll notice hard boiled eggs are no where to be found in this recipe: that is because my mother detests them. I, however, think they would make a lovely addition. Use your own discretion.) It’s naturally gluten free, dairy free, peanut/tree nut free, and sunflower seed free, so this is an easy addition to our arsenal of awesome picnic food.

Ingredients:

For the dressing–

  • 2 mayonnaise
  • 1/2 cup + 2 Tablespoons yellow mustard
  • 1/2 cup apple cider vinegar
  • 1/2 cup bread and butter pickle juice (or regular sweet pickle juice)
  • 6 Tablespoons sugar (or more, to taste)

For the salad–

  • 5 pounds russet potatoes, boiled with skin on, then cooled and peeled
  • 2 cups diced celery (about five large stalks)
  • 1/2 cup diced white onion (or red onion, or whatever kind you prefer)
  • 1 cup diced dill pickles (or, if you prefer a sweeter salad, use sweet pickles instead
Method:

First, prep the potatoes: wash them thoroughly and plunk them into a large pot, then fill the pot with water. Add salt, about a tablespoon or so, and set the pot to boil. Check for doneness occasionally, but it took mine about an hour to cook through.

Meanwhile, make the dressing. Whisk together all the mayonnaise, mustard, apple cider vinegar, pickle juice and sugar. This makes a lot of dressing, true: but you’ll need it. Put the dressing in the refrigerator until it’s time to toss with the salad.

Once the potatoes are fork tender, but not falling apart, remove them from the water and let them cool completely (to room temperature). While the potatoes are cooling, go ahead and do all your chopping so the veggies are ready to go.

Next, when the potatoes are room temperature, scrape the peels off and pile the cooked potatoes in a big bowl. Then, using both hands, squish the potatoes — and show no mercy!–in so that some turn to mush, and some just look like rough chunks. (You’ll just need to trust me on this one–keep at it and you’ll get the texture just right.) Add the diced celery, onions and pickles, then pour about 2 1/2-3 cups of the dressing on top and mix. Refrigerate overnight, if possible, then pour the remaining dressing on top and mix again just before serving.

 

Allergy Friendly · desserts · Friendship

These Are Gold, and S’Mores Pie

 

24 “The Lord bless you and keep you;
25 the Lord make his face shine on you and be gracious to you;
26 the Lord turn his face toward you and give you peace.”

-Deuteronomy 6:24-26

 

Make new friends but keep the old; those are silver, these are gold.

-Joseph Parry

Dear Joey,

I made two S’Mores Pies in the span of two days last week. My important, necessary work was met with your murmur of, “Another s’mores pie? I’m impressed!” This pie is dangerously easy, meaning there is a very good chance one will be waiting to meet you at the end of a long day’s work more often than perhaps it should. (Aren’t you the one who joked about buying a house where I could bake pies to my heart’s content and cool them by the windowsill? This problem is your fault.)

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Of all the pies, why S’Mores Pie? And why make two of them in two days? Fair question, and the answer can be found in a snippet of a conversation that happened several weeks ago now in my grandparents’ backyard between my BFF (as the Goobie girls would call her) Molly, and me.

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The conversation happened during those in-between days after you packed up the trucks and set off for Kansas, but before the Goobies and I hopped on an airplane to follow you. We were camped out at my grandparents’ house, laying low and trying to catch our breath after the frenzied weeks that led up to that point. The reprieve of the quiet was soothing at first, but turned stifling pretty quick without our usual arsenal of scooters, barbie dolls, monster trucks and art supplies. So we bought a kiddie pool and amused ourselves by splashing each other all day long. The kids got bored and I got anxious: we said goodbye but hadn’t left yet, and that span of four days felt tiresome without you. (Luckily hanging out with grandparents still entertains the Goobies for hours on end; I think it was me that was more anxious to go.)

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After a particularly insufferable day in which the heat and the attitudes converged and threatened to steal the last morsel of sanity left in reserve, my phone lit up and revealed a refreshing surprise from Molly: she was up from San Diego that weekend and wanted to know: “Any chance I could run up and give you a hug tomorrow?” My answer? Of course. I’m pretty sure I cried as I typed my reply, because my heart was feeling anxious and timid, like it needed a reminder that it could do brave, fun things. Molly always did that for me, and now on the verge of plunging into a great unknown, one more hug from a friend who has always given me the courage to be myself was a sweet gift indeed.

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Molly loaded her boys up into her minivan and made the trip over to see us and wrapped us up in big monster hugs and hung out with us in my grandparents’ backyard one more time. We spent the morning watching her boys attack the bowl of salsa I set out on a whim, scooping it up with chips so fast I could have sworn the kids hadn’t eaten in weeks. (I guess that’s life with boys?). In between bites her boys regaled me on everything from Broadway musicals to All Star games, and grilled me about my favorite kinds of sauce (chocolate, of course). Molly updated me on her teacher-life and how her son will turn student in her English class this year, and taught me how to use Facebook Marketplace to snag an amazing deal. We talked camping and s’mores and allergies too, and then, (and this is the clincher)–she told me about s’mores pie. (Real friends share all their best secrets, don’t they?)

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Our visit wasn’t emotionally charged with the pressure of saying goodbye; instead, it was just a normal visit. We’ve known each other since before we could speak or walk, and change is a constant in our friendship. College, marriage, children, moving away–every time something changes in our lives, John Rutter’s “The Lord Bless You and Keep You” rings in my ears and stings my eyes with the overflow of a swollen heart as we wrap our arms around each other for one more hug before parting. It reminds me of high school, and how things just kept changing after that last concert at Mission San Jose our senior year. All these years later, we knew this change wouldn’t alter our friendship. We parted ways with a hug and an unspoken (yet understood) blessing.

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And so, S’mores Pie stuck with me since our last visit on that old patio that saw us through our growing up years. When new opportunities began presenting themselves to engage with the people who populate this new life of ours, Molly and S’mores Pie were the things I couldn’t shake, and I found myself feeling like a shy kid all over again, leaning on my more outgoing best friend to help steady me as I jumped into new social situations. When we were kids, Molly was the one who first gave me courage to interact with others, forced me to join in instead of sitting at home bored and alone, and showed me how to be part of the life going on in front of me. She taught me how to make new friends.

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I am well past that now, really; social situations don’t tend to terrify me the way they did when I was a little girl, but in this unfamiliar place where history hasn’t knit me together with the people around me, I feel a little unsteady and uncertain, and I found myself wishing Molly were here so she could help break the ice for me. But in her stead, S’mores Pie helped me do that last week, and it turns out it was a suitable stand in: it’s interesting and special; never boring, always playful and fun–a conversation starter, for sure; comfortable and familiar even while it’s deep, rich, and complex. It’s so much like Molly, and taking it with me this week into two unfamiliar situations made me feel a little more empowered to be myself. Both Molly and that pie helped me take the first few steps toward forging new relationships, new friends, which I’m sure will be beautiful and sweet in their own right, too.

But this pie, this friend–these are gold.

Love,

Scratch

S’mores Pie

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Inspired to make S’mores Pie, but curious about other folks’ methods, I found this recipe that could easily be modified to fit our family’s food allergy requirements. I made that recipe as written the first time around (swapping out regular milk for flax milk; coconut milk for heavy cream; Enjoy Life Chocolate Morsels for the chocolate chips, etc.) but wasn’t satisfied with the end result. The next time around, I tinkered and came up with the version that is written below. Nana tasted it and loved the crust (Gluten free graham crackers for the win!), and declared the filling very rich indeed. I suppose the highest compliment came from my niece (who isn’t easy to impress when it comes to food), who came to find me after finishing her slice and asked, “Did you make the pie? It was really good.” (Also, an empty pie plate on the buffet table speaks volumes.) If your family doesn’t have food allergies, swap dairy ingredients for the non-dairy ones (milk = flax milk; heavy cream = coconut milk; butter = Earth Balance) and use regular graham crackers and chocolate chips. You can’t mess this pie up: it’s gold.

Note: I recommend using Kinnikinnick S’moreable Graham Style Crackers because they’re gluten free, dairy free, peanut/tree nut free, sunflower seed free, etc., and they make a crust that’s indistinguishable from its traditionally made cousin. I stock up when they go on sale at Sprouts.

Ingredients:

For the crust–

  • 2 cups gluten free graham cracker crumbs (Kinnikinnick brand, if possible)
  • 1/2 cup Earth Balance vegan buttery spread, melted

For the filling–

  • 3/4 cup plain unsweetened flaxmilk (without protein)
  • 3/4 cup full fat coconut milk
  • 9 oz. Enjoy Life brand dark chocolate chips
  • 2 large eggs, whisked
  • 1 T honey
  • 1 tsp pure vanilla extract
  • pinch of sea salt

For the topping–

  • 25 large marshmallows (or so), cut in half
Method:

First, preheat the oven to 350 degrees.

Next, crush the graham crackers into fine crumbs (the whole package of graham crackers, please), then mix the crumbs with the melted Earth Balance. Press the mixture into a 9″ pie plate and bake for 15-20 minutes, or until the crust is fragrant and golden (but not burned).

Meanwhile, while the crust is baking, whisk the eggs together until they’re a soft yellow color. Then, in a medium saucepan, warm the flax milk and coconut milk over medium heat and add the chocolate chips. Whisk until the chocolate is smooth. Turn the heat down to low. Ladle a little bit of the warm chocolate mixture (about 1/4 cup or so) into the whisked eggs and stir quickly, then pour the mixture into the pan of chocolate and whisk vigorously. Then, add the honey, vanilla and salt and whisk until combined. Remove the filling from the heat and set it aside until the pie crust is done.

One the crust is golden, remove it from the oven and pour the chocolate pudding-like mixture into the still-hot shell and spread the top smooth with a rubber scraper. (Then proceed to lick that scraper clean.) Put the pie back into the oven and bake for about 30 more minutes, or until the filling doesn’t jiggle or wiggle much at all when you move the pie plate.

While the pie is baking, snip the marshmallows in half. When the pie is done baking, change the oven from bake mode to broil mode, and set it to the low setting. Arrange the cut marshmallows on top of the just-baked pie and set on the middle rack under the broiler AND WATCH CLOSELY because it won’t take long for the marshmallows to puff up and turn golden brown. Remove the pie as soon as they look golden enough for your taste. (My pies are perfect after two minutes under the broiler.)

Refrigerate for 4 hours (or more, if you can)–but don’t cover it with plastic wrap unless you want an effective way to remove all the gooey golden goodness from the top of your pie. I know from experience.

Dairy Free · Faith · Family Life · Salads · Side Dishes

Learning to Weather the Storms, and Creamy Coleslaw

22 “[…] Your business is life, not death. Follow me. Pursue life.”

23-25 Then he got in the boat, his disciples with him. The next thing they knew, they were in a severe storm. Waves were crashing into the boat—and he was sound asleep! They roused him, pleading, “Master, save us! We’re going down!”

26 Jesus reprimanded them. “Why are you such cowards, such faint-hearts?” Then he stood up and told the wind to be silent, the sea to quiet down: “Silence!” The sea became smooth as glass.

Matthew 8: 22-26

Dear Joey,

Well goodness–yesterday when we are smack dab in the middle of a severe Midwestern thunderstorm, all those voices warning me that Midwestern weather will take some getting used to are echoing in my ears. I’m not sure the dreadful din of thunder will ever lull me into a peaceful sleep (like it does for you), but I suppose I’ll get used to it. I think. I hope.

I admit I panicked yesterday–not because tornadoes threatened to sweep us up and whisk us away from the new house we have still yet to fully unpack (although, I wondered if that was imminent…), but because black clouds clapping their tinny hands feels threatening, and let’s face it: hiding felt like the safest thing to do. I watched out the front window as those bulbous clouds stormed their way northeast, the direction you would be driving in a matter of minutes to start afternoon clinic. Next I paced up and down the kitchen, feigning calm and scolding the impulse to barricade myself and the kids in the basement, and wondering if the sky was that peculiar shade of green Sarah taught me goes hand in hand with an imminent tornado.

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But before long, the storm passed us by and the clouds dispersed and the sun poked its head back out again as the birds sang a little song just for me, soothing the angst right out of my system. Blue sky edged out the gray, and things seemed normal, which made me feel foolish for coming this close to ushering the Goobies down to the basement just in case (because I didn’t want to be the silly California girl who doesn’t know how to keep her kids safe in a storm). I’m not used to this stuff. It feels unfamiliar and scary, and I am tempted to heed the saying, “Better safe than sorry” and just stay home all the time, rather than risk being caught outdoors in weather I don’t know how to handle.

I have a lot to learn about living in this new reality, clearly. The weather patterns, the warning signs and systems, the precautions to take and the emergency procedures to take when the weather gets out of control. I keep asking questions, wanting very much to kick fear to the curb and let knowledge empower me to go outside and live, instead of letting fear keep me safely inside, away from things and people out there because there’s a chance the weather could change on a dime, thrusting me into an emergency situation for which I am not equipped.

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When you called me to let me know you were headed up to the other office, the one where the storm cloud was headed too–I bit my tongue and decided you must know things about staying safe in the middle of a storm that I simply don’t know yet, and I couldn’t help but think about the way feeding our family must feel to people who aren’t used to the day-to-day difficulties of feeding food allergy folks. Part of moving to this new place is figuring out how to integrate our persnickety food problems into unfamiliar territory, and helping other people understand what it takes to keep our family safe.

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At first, weather and food allergies don’t seem to be similar at all. But the more I think about it, the more I see what perhaps others don’t. Like severe weather, severe food allergies have patterns, but they are not a force limited to the things we think we know about them. All could be well and good when suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere, something triggers a chain reaction that could ultimately lead to a severe ordeal, and while most of the time things aren’t nearly as bad as they could be, there’s always a chance something major and tragic could happen. It is possible to live safely in severe weather happens, of course, just like it’s possible to live safely with food allergies. I’m learning that both require education, preparedness and vigilance, and neither demand hiding in the basement at all times.

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When it comes to severe weather, there are systems set up to keep the public safe. Very smart people who know a lot more about weather send out alerts and let us know when something threatening lurks in the clouds. There’s no need to panic, and everybody appreciates clear communication about the precautions we ought to take to stay safe. So it is with severe food allergies: there’s no need to panic, and clear communication about the precautions to keep people safe are welcomed and appreciated, too.

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Admittedly, integrating the Goobies into our extended family’s life felt risky, and I was tempted to panic like the disciples did when they started worrying about what might happen in the middle of the storm on the Sea of Galilee. They knew who was in charge, and yet–Jesus was asleep, and they wondered how they would be safe in the middle of the squall. They cried out to Him, and Jesus asked them why their hearts were faint, and that’s the part gets me every time. He was with them in the middle of the storm–did they really think they would succumb to the winds and waves? They focused on what they could see, not on what they knew to be true. That happens to me, too: fear tends to be a natural default when something scary surrounds me, whether it’s a black storm cloud or the threat of a possible allergic reaction. Don’t I know who is in charge? Hasn’t He promised to be with me in scary situations? (Fear not, for I am with you.” — Isaiah 41:10).

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I was scared to have those conversations: scared of being viewed as neurotic and over bearing; scared that no one would take us seriously; scared that bad things would happen despite the best intentions. Fear tempted me to believe I was better off alone, cowering in the basement instead of going out and being part of this family life that welcomed us with open arms. But I resisted, choosing instead to believe that the Lord really is with us in the midst of difficult circumstances. And so, we took the plunge and talked openly about what doesn’t work for our kids. Guiding everyone toward safety, instead of keeping quiet and crossing our fingers nothing bad would happen, was a proactive way to educate the people around us about what could happen and empower them to feed us without fear. It helped us stay vigilant, but also helped us to relax a little and enjoy each other, instead of feeling bitter and angry that our own little brood has frustrating food restrictions that make social life tough.

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And of course my fears were completely irrational because Andy and Sarah cleared out all the offending ingredients from the immediate reach of our food allergy kids; they graciously kept milk and cheese and yogurt off their kids’ menu for the duration of our stay with them; all the folks at the Maier family reunion willingly made it an allergy-free event and even learned to enjoy tacos without dairy adornments; your mom hosted a rollicking (and delicious) allergy-free 90th birthday for your grandma, who seemed to enjoy every last bite of that dairy free BBQ feast and didn’t seem to care one whit about whether there were dairy or nuts (or gluten, for that matter) missing from that enormous chocolate cake.

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At first, trusting family who aren’t used to the day-to-day food allergy issue felt like driving into an ominous storm cloud, and I admit I was both nervous to let go of control and let others feed us. I learned in a very real way that clear communication about precautions to take to keep our kids them safe is crucial, of course, but I also learned talking openly about it (instead of cowering in fear in the basement) helps all of us breathe a little easier. I’m not sure the nerves of eating anywhere other than our own home will ever completely subside (just like I’m pretty sure the threat of tornadoes will always keep me wondering if the sky is that particular shade of green), but I am crying thankful tears for this family of yours–of ours, who are invested in learning how to feed our kids well. Keeping our the Goobies safe comes naturally to them because our kids are their kids too.

Grandma Carol patted my arm and whispered to me as she settled back into her patio chair to watch her great-grandchildren frolic in slanted summer-evening sun, “I’ve never had a party like this before.” Neither had I, really, but I hope we have many more.

Love,

Scratch

 

Creamy Coleslaw

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The biggest hurdle for family get togethers is how to feed a lot of people easily, without making anyone feel like the food is anything but delicious. Lucky for us, BBQ tends to be a pretty easy answer for feeding a lot of people truly delicious food. This was the case for Joey’s Great Grandma’s birthday, and the biggest question was what to serve on the side. Store-bought prepared convenience foods pose a problem for our family, due to sneaky ingredients and less-than-trustworthy methods of preparation. Luckily side dishes like coleslaw are both easy and inexpensive, so volunteering to bring some along to the BBQ was a cinch. The highest compliment came from my mother-in-law, who said, “Not only could I not tell the difference, this is even better.” Coleslaw doesn’t need milk to be creamy, friends. Try this recipe and try to convince me otherwise.

Ingredients:

For the dressing–(the following yields 2 cups)

  • 1 1/2 cups mayonnaise (if your family is allergic to eggs, try using Just Mayo brand)
  • 1/4 cup sugar
  • 1/4 cup white vinegar
  • 2 Tablespoons water
  • 1/2 T lemon juice
  • 1/4 teaspoon fine black pepper
  • 1/4 teaspoon sea salt

For the salad–

  • 2 cups shredded green cabbage
  • 2 cups shredded red cabbage
  • 1 cup shredded carrots
Method:

First, mix together the dressing and set aside. Next, shred the cabbage and carrots into a big bowl. Pour on some dressing, about a cup, and toss together until the cabbage is well coated. Add more dressing if it seems like it needs more, and it very well might. (Everyone seems to have their preference for how much dressing is on coleslaw, so go with your gut and don’t stress if you have a lot of dressing left over.) Let the salad sit in the fridge for about an hour before serving, if possible.